Moira
by hUeS -of- h a z e l
Summary: The greatest stories are those that resonate our beginnings and intuit our endings, our mysterious origins and our numinous destinies, and dissolve them both into one. Rachel, Escad, and faeries. post-game.
1. Moira

_The greatest stories are those that resonate our beginnings and intuit our endings, our mysterious origins and our numinous destinies, and dissolve them both into one._

**- Ben Okri**_  
_

_Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,  
Or answer when you spoke to me,  
Because in the long, still dusks of Spring  
You can hear the whole world whispering._

**- Charlotte Mew, **_**"The Changeling"**_


	2. The Ritual

Somewhere past the gates of the realms, beyond the rift of man and beast, far deeper than the earth and the sky, a single bell rang like a sharp, cutting blade. It rang far and it rang clear, like struck glass, through air so still and so cold it almost seemed to sing. It and rang and rang and rang, but no one ever heard it, and soon it fell away, silently, like fresh and frigid snow.

As the sound died, an ancient and intricate spell was cast into a land that had been soaked in tragic blood. The night sky was an opaque shroud, a lightless firmament that seemed to emphasize the unholy glow the runes blazed as mana spun like thread through words uttered lowly and with urgence.

"Hurry," murmured the blue woman. "Hurry." Her gaze was hard as the slick ingredients gathered in the pentagrams' center shimmered; a family crest, a finely honed sword, a pile of bones bleached white by the sun, all soaked in a substance that smelled strongly of burning. Would it be enough? She could only hope.

At the outer edge of the circle opposite of her, the witch's chanting became faster, louder. Soon her eyes rolled as her arms, held aloft in front of her cloaked body, shook. The air hummed; the woman felt the mana around them gather and ignite, sending her blood pounding through her veins and making each breath heavy. The magic was dark, darker than what she had foolishly expected, than what she had thought she knew.

Suddenly, everything stopped—and collided. A horrific, otherworldly scream tore the air as all the summoned energy converged, and from that center erupted an explosion of fire and magic. The runes and symbols carved into the earth combusted, turning into a ring of writhing flames. The sword and the crest were blown out in different directions. The witch had stopped her chanting, but the woman could see nothing beyond the strange smoke rising from the center of the ring.

She dared not move as silence settled and the smoke cleared, revealing exactly what she had hoped for: the body of a naked man. She ran forward into the ring, the flames parting before her in a whoosh of icy wind, and fell to her knees beside him. The witch, who had not moved, stood silently beyond the fire to watch, black hood low over her face.

The man lay on his side, pale hair strewn behind him. On his back, from one shoulder to the other, was a large scar that reminded her of wings. Strange, runic wings, filled with meaning she both dreaded and revered knowing, freshly seared into his skin. She watched his steady breathing through his slightly open mouth and reached down to touch his brow with cold and gentle fingers. _So serene_, she thought. After a moment she tilted her head back to look up at the witch.

"What is his name?"

The witch regarded her for a moment before turning away to stride towards the sword, which had landed in the ground behind her, blade half-buried in the earth. Grasping the hilt, she pulled it free and returned to stand before the woman.

"His name," the witch told her. "is Escad." She held the sword out for the blue woman to take. Carefully, so as to not touch the iron blade, she did.

With her other hand still resting on his brow, the blue woman leaned down so that her dark lips hovered over his ear.

"Escad," she said. "Awake."

He did.

* * *

**A/N:** It's here, ladies and gentlemen. Pray my creativity for this doesn't run out TOO soon...


	3. Rachel

**_M o i r a_**

**Chapter One:**

**Rachel**

**

* * *

**

_I feel like I am watching everything from space  
And in a minute I'll hear my name and I'll wake  
I think the finish line's a good place we could start  
Take a deep breath, take in all that you could want_  
**  
****- Snow Patrol, _The Finish Line_**

**_

* * *

_**

Rachel heard the drunken proclamation before the man had even reached out a hand to touch her. A collective "ooooh" rose from the table as she whirled to drive his offending appendage away with deft chop to his wrist, tray of empty mugs balanced perfectly on her other hand, her server's smile tight. Smoothly, she kept her stride without missing a beat, even as the man slurred something obscene in her wake. That it was obscene was all she could make out over the din of voices and music of the tavern's beloved music night. Maneuvering her way past packed tables crammed too close together, she stepped up to the bar and set the tray down before Amanda, who was serving a customer another frothing mug of ale.

"Take it easy, Tal," she told him. "This one's your last." A deep, wet belch was her reply. Rachel sighed.

"I want to go _home_," she lamented, dragging her hands over her face. Amanda gave her a sympathetic smile as she took the tray full of mugs, each of them slick with alcoholic residue, and replaced them with ones filled with fresh ale.

"Just five more hours, love." She set the tray back on the counter; frothy amber fluid sloshed and pooled at the base of each cup. Rachel reached for the tray with another sigh. Tal gave her a sloppy, squinty-eyed smile as he raised his beverage in her general direction, most likely in a gesture of drunken encouragement.

"Thanks," Rachel muttered, before turning away.

She slept until noon the next day, as was usual when she worked music night, and woke up with a pounding head.

"I don't even drink," she grumbled, throwing her quilt aside. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she stared at the lump of carelessly shed clothing lying in front of her bed. The white lace of her barmaid's frock glowed in the sunlight shining through the window along with the dust motes dancing through the air. She hated that uniform. It wasn't enough that she had breasts the size of melons. No, the top she wore to work had an open back because of her stupid, stupid wings, and, of course, a skirt. Not a short one, thank the Goddess, and she usually wore stockings underneath, but that didn't stop the drunkards from trying to cop a feel.

Thankfully, today was her day off. Rachel stood and kicked her uniform out of her way as she approached her dresser and plopped down on the cushioned stool. She brushed her long and tangled indigo tresses then tied a folded bandana in front of her antenna the color of a ripe strawberry. After securing the knot at the base of her neck, beneath her thick hair, she rubbed at her tired eyes, licked her pale, chapped mouth, and stood to get dressed.

Even though it had been almost a year since she had been forcefully sucked out of her happy existence in Geo, Rachel still hadn't quite adjusted to her life back in her sleepy little village, Domina. Or how people had come to expect her to live it. Her parents were still coping with the fact that she hated dresses and, Goddess forbid, the color pink. As happy as they were that their real daughter had returned to her body, Mark and Jennifer were a little worried that she still wasn't the same Rachel they had raised. Not because they believed an entirely new person was occupying the body of their beloved daughter, but because of the young woman she had apparently become while leading a double life in the alien, mystic city of Geo.

"Mom, just because I don't like skirts," she had told her bewildered mother upon her announcement that she was buying a new wardrobe and donating her old one. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop being a woman."

"O-oh."Jennifer, for once, had nothing to say. Rachel received a similar reaction from her father when she told him she wanted to start training—with weapons.

"You never thought much about fighting before, honey-bun…"

"No, _Rosemary_ didn't think much of fighting, daddy," she corrected while securing a round, reinforced shield onto her left arm. She could feel his eyes on her as he stared at the steel short sword strapped to her hip as though a carrot was sheathed there instead.

"R-right," Mark said, distantly. "Rosemary..."

Rachel had to admit, she felt guilty for putting her parents through all of this…again. Even though she had kept in contact with them via telepathy during the four years of their separation, her abrupt return had nonetheless caught them off guard. To be honest, it had caught her off-guard too. Well, the mind-body switch was only supposed to be temporary anyway. Supposedly. And despite all the confusion her homecoming had caused…it felt good to be back in her own body, because now she felt as though she could _truly_ become Rachel. As she tugged down the hem of her shirt, she smiled. Now the only problem left was getting everyone else to feel that way too.

* * *

Jennifer was about to ascend the stairs just as Rachel came out of her room. "Oh, you're up!" she said happily, which quickly turned into something else as she watched Rachel come down the steps in leggings, a belt and a blouse.

"Oh." Her tone was sideways even as she smiled up at her daughter. "Sweetie, don't you have anything…_nicer_ to wear?"

Affronted, Rachel looked down at her clothes. Fitted brown leggings, a brown belt, and a simple lace-up tunic the color of cream. Well, it wasn't silk and lace, but she didn't think it was _that_ bad. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't mean _you _don't look nice! It's just that we're having company over today." __

Company?_We have company over every day,_ Rachel thought. It was then that she noticed the glittering earrings in her mother's ears and the careful creases of her dress. "What kind of company are we having that warrants my clothing unworthy of public display?"

At this, Jennifer's face lit up with a smile that made Rachel suddenly rethink of rolling out of bed that day. "Distant relatives!" she cried in barely contained enthusiasm.

"Oh." _What?_ Rachel blinked, unsure how to respond. "Why…?"

"Your father got a letter in the mail yesterday! Apparently his mother's fourth cousin's daughter is trying to make contact with all her of family! She's bringing her son, too—they're _nobles_!" Rachel half-expected a squeal to follow this explanation.

"Nobles…?" Rachel echoed. It was then that someone knocked hard on the door of the house.

Jennifer whirled at the sound, wings fluttering. "Oooh, they're here! MARK!" She turned back to her daughter, who was looking at her dubiously. "Rachel, please go put on something more presentable!" Before she could open her mouth to object, Rachel was forced to oblige as her mother chased her back up the stairs, hands flapping in a spastic 'shoo'ing motion.

Back in her room, Rachel paused. _Nobles? Seriously? _Since when? Didn't she deserve to know these kinds of things ahead of time? Shaking her head, she considered her closet. Did she even own anything worthy of noble eyes? Slowly, her gaze drifted towards the rumpled heap beside her bed that was her dreaded uniform. The closest thing she had that resembled a dress was that. Everything else she had either sold or gave away nearly a year before.

"I am definitely not wearing _that_," she muttered aloud. She owned body armor that somewhat resembled a skirt. _Right,_ Rachel snorted at the thought. _Marching down stairs in a fauld would seal my fate. Mom would absolutely shriek._

Rachel shook her head, sighing. She supposed the most she could do was slap on some jewelry and hope for the best. She walked up to her dresser. _My belt buckle is gold, so…_She rummaged through her drawers for something suitable and came away with a set of gold bangles and matching earrings that would dangle delicately just past her jaw line, things she never quite recalled owning before. __

Probably Rosemary's, she thought as she threaded gilded wire through her ears. _Lucky me._

With the bracelets hanging from her wrist clinking softly, Rachel made her way back downstairs. Cheery voices drifted from the living room, and from the sound of it, they were talking about her. Rachel hurried past the staircase, praying her parents weren't saying anything to humiliate her.

The afternoon sunlight nearly blinded her as she entered the room; Rachel brought a hand up to shield her eyes, allowing her to see her parents and their guests sitting around the coffee table. A regal looking woman and young man with a similar air sat together on the patchwork couch, staring directly at her. Rachel stopped, surprised. The woman's hair was pulled up and back in an elegant bun looped with auburn curls. Tendrils fell to brush her cheekbones, which were soft and delicate-looking, and where Rachel stood her skin looked like flawless porcelain, almost too perfect to be real. She wore a gown made from fuchsia silk that glowed softly in the light from the window. The young man who sat with her had silvery hair that was sleekly secured at the base of his neck and alarmingly light eyes, emphasized all the more by the dark, thick lashes framing them and the way they were set upon his high, sharp cheekbones. His coat was spun from a fine silver thread that was a shade or two lighter than his hair, with onyx cuff links and matching buttons. They were, simply put, beautiful, and Rachel knew instantly that she didn't like them.

"Rachel!" Jennifer exclaimed, forcing Rachel to look at her. She stood, her wings blocking the bright sunlight and reached for her daughter's shoulders as Rachel lowered her arm.

"I thought I told you to put on something presentable?" Jennifer said as discreetly as she could. In response, Rachel blinked and pointed to her ears with the hand adorned in golden bracelets. Jennifer pursed her lips.

"Come sit by daddy, honey," Mark said, clearly sensing his wife's tension. Rachel obeyed, taking her seat beside her father, in a chair directly across from the pale-eyed man. His eyes followed her, as though riveted, and as she sat down she saw that they were green. A green so washed-out it was more pale than moss, nearly as pallid as milk. He smiled at her and she tore her eyes away.

"Rachel," Jennifer said as s he took her seat on Mark's other side. "These are your cousins, Amarante and her son, Verrell."

Her _son_? _What?_ That woman didn't look nearly old enough to have a son that age; he had to have been twenty-two or three at minimum, she thirty at most. Rachel clasped her hands in her lap, nodding in their general direction while trying not to look either in the eye. "Hello."

"My, aren't you lovely?" Amarante's voice was sweet and positively pleasant, like silver bells and honey. Rachel's gaze strayed to her and she saw that in the sunlight her eyes were a blazing hazel, rich amber that melted into green, and somehow even more intense than her son's. "Your parents are absolutely in love with you, and I can at least see why."

Rachel tried to smile, but didn't think she quite managed it. Mark and Jennifer beamed and took each other's hand, obviously very pleased.

"They tell us that you are an academy graduate, no? That's very impressive! What was it that you studied?" Amarante smiled disarmingly, but Rachel didn't feel any more at ease. She glanced at her father, who was gazing back with patient expectance.

"Uhm." Rachel cleared her throat. _Get a grip! _"I mostly studied alchemic and combative magic under Professors Thesenis and Kathinja," she said.

Amarante nodded, her delicate eyebrows high in acknowledgement. "A potent combination! And you studied that for what, four years?" She turned to her son, who was leaning languidly against the arm of the couch, watching Rachel intently. "Isn't that impressive, dear?"

"Yes," Verrell said, finally looking away from her to smile at Mark and Jennifer, whose radiant expressions seemed frozen in place. Rachel felt as though a tight rope had been loosened from around her as his eyes broke contact.

"Tell us, Verrell," Mark said to him, his voice a gentle rumble. "What are your talents?"

"Verrell happens to be an accomplished swordsman," Amarante gushed before her son could reply. She reached out one dainty hand to pat his knee. "And a very talented flautist!"

Conversation flowed like that for the rest of the visit, with each parent bragging about their children in turn. Rachel and Verrell spoke when it was necessary, but said nothing beyond that. When Teapo hopped in with a tray of fresh, steaming tea, Rachel gratefully took it as an excuse to keep her eyes fixed on her cup while under the weight of Verrell's piercing stare. Outside, the sunny afternoon moved along as usual, and Rachel longed desperately to be beyond the walls of her house, where the air was fresh and the sky went on forever.

* * *

**A/N:** Well. Next chapter, things get rolling, promise!

(I'm too tired to revise/edit this right now, sooo please feel free to point out my fails)

And...to **Tiamat42**: Meep! -cower- PLEASE ACCEPT THIS HUMBLE OFFERING.

...wait. Quality? ..._Quality_? Thank you!

EDIT: All revised, shiny and new. Unfortunately, I still hate it, ahaha.


	4. Glamorous

**M o i r a**

**Chapter Two:**

**The Glamorous**

* * *

_You who lure the bird from the flock,  
You who refresh the mind,  
Brown spotted one of sweet words,  
Ardent, wondrous, passionate._

**- Gofraidh Fion O Dalaigh,**_**The Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair  
**_

* * *

Amarante and Verrell were to stay in Domina for five days. They left Rachel's house just as the sun sank below the horizon and the sky was awash with the deep colors of twilight. Amarante promised Jennifer that she would return the next afternoon for more tea, to Jennifer's sheer delight and Rachel's utter dismay.

As soon as they left, Rachel went to her room with the declaration that she was going to bed.

"But you slept nearly all day!" her mother protested, just as her daughter ascended the stairs. "You haven't even eaten anything yet."

"I don't feel well, mom," was Rachel's weak reply before closing her door. That night her sleep was riddled with dreams filled with light and steel, slipping away like smoke each time she awoke trying to make sense of what she saw.

She woke at dawn, just as the sun was rising, and took the opportunity slip out the front door before anyone else rose, with her shield held tightly and her sword sheathed at her hip. In the deserted field northwest of town, Rachel spent the morning going through sword drills, and it was there that she was found by Duelle just as the noon sun crested in the sky.

She was in the middle of performing a lunging technique as he appeared around a bend in the path, stopping to lift his helmet and mop the sweat from his brow. "Geez!" he huffed upon see her, letting his headgear drop back over his eyes. "Aren't you hot?"

"No," she grunted breathlessly.

Duelle rolled his eyes. She was soaked in sweat. He wandered past her to settle down under the shade of a tree, letting a relieved sigh escape his mouth as his rump met the cool earth. He set his spear down beside him. "Your mom sent me to find you," he called over the sounds of her training.

Her sword came down once more in a flashing arc. After a moment, Rachel straightened, panting, and turned to face her old friend. "I figured she would eventually."

Duelle smiled at her and patted the dirt beside him. He held a leather satchel up as he declared, "I brought lunch."

Rachel grinned and sheathed her sword.

For the next half hour, the two chatted lightly as they shared a simple lunch of bread, cheese, stuffed and pitted olives and flask of water. She had nearly forgotten about all her worries before Duelle started giving her suspicious looks. She noticed just as she popped the last briny olive into her mouth, and met his stare expectantly.

When he didn't say anything, she asked, "What?"

Duelle, for a moment, gave no reply. "Something's bugging you," he stated after a pause.

Rachel blinked. She began to chew her olive thoughtfully, turning her head away to face the field ahead of them and the bright, whimsical clouds floating over the horizon beyond. "Maybe," she confessed quietly.

"Maybe?" he repeated. He leaned over to nudge her shoulder gently with a fist, chuckling. "Don't try to pull _that_ on me, kid. I know when you're upset."

A silent smile stretched her lips

"It's those weird relatives of yours, isn't it?" It wasn't a question. Rachel turned back to him in surprise. "You're mom told me about them," he explained, and she nodded. _Of course she did._ "And I saw them wandering through market earlier this morning," he added. She watched his face screw up as he spoke, his blues eyes bright through the shadows his mask cast. "They were wearing _silk_, for Mana's sake. Silk! In a town where the streets are made of dust. And when that guy turned my way and I saw his eyes, well. It was creepy."

"You have no idea," she said. The memory of Verell's weird eyes made her skin crawl. "Let me ask you something. When you saw them, what did you assume their relationship was? Brother and sister?"

Duelle blinked, then shrugged. "Uh, I don't know. Wasn't really thinking about that. Sure, siblings sounds plausible."

Rachel shook her head. "Try mother and son."

Duelle's eyes bugged. "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me."

Duelle blinked a few times before shrugging weakly. "Well, maybe she adopted him."

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. "Oh," she said. _Damn, I never thought of that._

Duelle watched her pout. After a minute he said, "They really freaked you out, didn't they."

She squirmed under his scrutiny. "Well, yeah," she said. "You saw them; they're..._weird_."

"No." He cut her off. "Well, I mean, yes, they're freaky...but _you're_ freaked out. It was that guy, wasn't it? What was his name? Verily—"

"Verrell," Rachel corrected flatly.

He reached for her arm, eyes suddenly afire. "Did he _touch_ you?"

"What?"

"_By the Goddess,_ I swear that I'll—"

Rachel shook off his hand. "Duelle," she said firmly. "He didn't do anything like_ that_." Her face screwed up in a look that was part disgust and part incredulity.

Duelle cleared his throat. "Well. Those pretty boys think they can get away with whatever they want, you know—"

"You do realize that I'm an Academy graduate? And that I minored in combative magic?"

"Of course, but—"

"I was raised by a man who sells an array of very sharp _weaponry_ for living."

"_I _know all that Rach, but-"

Apparently deciding that at this point words were moot, Rachel opened her hand in front of his face. After uttering a swift, lilting stream of words a small flame popped into existence over her open palm, nearly searing his nose.

"Geez!" he cried, batting her hand away. The flame dissipated with a hiss. "Is_ caring_ a crime or something?"

And that was that.

* * *

An hour later saw the pair ambling back down the road to town. Rachel didn't relay much more information to her friend concerning her relatives. Duelle didn't press her, but she could tell that he believed she wasn't telling him everything. That, and he was still sore about the fire.

After seeing his reaction to _her_ reaction to meeting her cousins, she decided not to tell him about their...charm. She had the sinking suspicion that there was magic at play, however, despite what she felt Rachel didn't want to jump to conclusions or start spouting assumptions about people she barely knew simply because she felt uncomfortable around them. Although Duelle seemed to already have done that for her in the clearing.

As they walked, Rachel absently fiddled with the grip of her sword sheathed at her hip. Verrell never touched her. He barely talked to her. But when she thought back to the afternoon before, his eyes pierced her—she had felt that he did something…wrong. Not just him, but Amarante as well. It was more than just a feeling that they were "creepy". She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had felt it. She mulled over this feeling and tried to label it, drawing only blanks as visions of their practically perfect faces flashed through head. Over and over again a voice inside her would chant: _Wrong. Something's wrong._

_Wrong_ could quite plausibly be attributed to magic. But why? Why would they be using magic to charm her parents? It didn't make much sense._  
_

"Hey," Duelle said suddenly, stopping. She pulled up beside him. He stared at something in the distance, and after a moment his lip curled back.

"Don't look now…" he muttered.

Rachel did, of course.

_Spirits be damned!_

Striding towards them was none other than Verrell, looking as regal as ever in a silk shirt as blue the bright sky behind him. His eyes, she noticed, looked as though they had a bit more color in them now that he wasn't backlit by blinding sunlight. A long, thin scabbard hung at his hip, its leather inlaid with silvery vines and swirls that for whatever reason reminded her of little gusts of wind. He walked straight and tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips and a face that somehow managed to look strong despite its delicacy.

"Miss Rachel," he said once he reached them, looking surprised. His gaze swept over her, from her dusty boots up to her limp, sweaty hair. "Hello."

Suddenly extremely conscious of the thin shorts and sleeveless tunic she had worn that day, Rachel tried not to shrink in on herself as she replied, "Hello, cousin."_Don't be so meek! _She willed herself up straighter and hooked her thumbs through her belt loops so that she wouldn't wring her hands together, face burning. She felt as Duelle moved to stand closer beside her. Still, she could only seem to gaze at Verrell's cheek, his nose, his chin, look anywhere but into his eyes.

"Erm," she cleared her throat. "What brings you out here?"

He smiled, gesturing to the clear sky. "Just enjoying the weather. It was raining rabites and chocobos when mother and I left our estate." He nodded at her shield and sword. "I see you're making the best of the day as well."

With a twitch of her head Rachel tossed her bangs back, which were stringy with dried sweat, and nodded. Silence settled. _Please go away_, she thought dismally.

"Ahem," Duelle coughed.

"Oh…" Rachel turned to him. "Verrell, this is Duelle." Stepping away from her side, the onion warrior extended his hand. Verrell took it and they shook.

"I'm Rachel's best friend," said Duelle, tone laced with something a little less than friendly.

"And I am her eighth cousin," replied Verrell, offering a placid, charming smile. Then they stared one another directly in the eye and said nothing more. Despite his diminutive height, Duelle faced him as though he was suddenly triple his own size and double Verrell's. Rachel watched with a growing mix of incredulity and alarm as both men's faces stiffened under the strain of their tightening handshake.

"Ooo_kay_!" Rachel reached for her friend. Gently, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and pulled him back, laughing nervously. "Alrighty then," she chirped, trying not to show her disbelief as both parties finally let go. "We have to go now. My mom's waiting for me."

"Ah," said Verrell, appearing unaffected by whatever had just transpired. He flashed a dazzling smile so suddenly that it nearly took her breath away. "Yes. She and mother were meeting for tea this afternoon. Are you joining them?"

"U-uh," Rachel stammered, mentally slapping herself. "We'll see." She steered Duelle around her fair cousin and tried to ignore the heat of his eyes as he watched them go.

"It was a pleasure, Duelle!" he called after them just as they were about to round the bend.

Duelle, holding his hand gingerly with his spear tucked under his arm, scowled. "Hmph," he grunted.

* * *

Rachel stared. She opened her mouth, then closed it, before finally settling on saying, "Wow."

Beside her, Amarante asked, "Do you like it?"

Rachel simply kept staring. When she came home not a half hour earlier, she'd completely expected her mother to drag her into the living room after ordering her to change out of her sweaty clothing. She'd also expected Amarante to be waiting there with a perfect smile and perfect posture and perfect hair. She had been, of course, but she had also brought with her a rather expensive looking ornate box. "I'm so glad you're here," she had chimed, beckoning Rachel with one hand as she held the box up with the other. "I have something for you, Rachel."

That something happened to be the most fantastic dress Rachel had ever laid eyes, let alone hands, on.

"Oh, " Jennifer breathed, sitting on Rachel's other side. "Amarante, it's beautiful." She reached down to touch the delicate fabric draped across her daughter's lap.

Amarante smiled, although Rachel couldn't look away from the dress. "Uh." She cleared her throat. The silk, or whatever fine fabric it was made from, shimmered in shades of purple. The most prominent color she saw was magenta, shifting in and out of plum and violet and indigo.

"T-thank you," she stammered softly.

Amarante sat back, extending a hand delicately to finger the skirt. "I had no idea what size you wear, or what you looked like when I bought this. I assumed you were petite, but bought a larger size just in case. A wise choice, it seems." Her hawk-like eyes roamed Rachel's figure. She stiffened uncomfortably under the stare, but held herself in check until Amarante continued, "You have such lovely proportions, my dear."

Rachel blushed, eyes widening a fraction as she quickly fixed her gaze back on her lap.

Jennifer clapped her hands together in front of her chest, oblivious. "These colors! Oh, Rachel, this dress will look absolutely stunning on you!"

"It's perfumed, as well. I do hope you don't mind." Amarante lifted the skirt to her face and breathed in the scent. "Lilacs." She smiled again. She let go and the skirt floated back down, sending a floral waft of air into Rachel's face.

She blinked. She reached for the dress herself and breathed in the fragrance. _Lilac_, she thought wistfully. _My favourite._ Her vision began to swim. She shook her head, but that only brought on a dull throbbing behind her eyes.

Jennifer frowned. "Rachel? Are you alright, sweetie?"

Rachel let go of the dress and touched her temple. "Yes," she said. "I'm fine. Just a headache. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Amarante pursed her lips. "Why don't you try on the dress?" she suggested, touching Rachel's hand gently. "After that you can have a nap."

Rachel looked at her. Her hair was half up today. Auburn curls spilled over her shoulders. She wore a gold skirt and matching petticoat that was clearly made to accentuate her bosom. The color made her eyes pop, and Rachel felt a pang in her chest as she took in Amarante's effortless beauty.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Okay," she said, even though, dully, she felt an urging somewhere inside of her to say no.

In Rachel's room, Amarante helped her into the dress. Rachel had tried to persuade her that she could fit into the dress by herself, but Amarante insisted on showing her how to wear it properly. Rachel didn't think she needed lessons in how to wear a dress, but she relented when her mother began to scold her again.

"Perfect," Amarante said as she finished lacing the bodice. The two stood in front of Rachel's full length mirror and stared. The dress _did _fit perfectly, like a glove, and was even cut to accommodate her wings. Amarante reached for Rachel's hair, which hung in a long drape down her back, and swept it all up onto the back of her head.

"Oh," Rachel said. "That's alright Amarante—"

"Call me Ara, dear."

"Er, Ara…you really don't have to do that…"

Amarante tsked. "Nonsense. It will only take a moment."

With one hand, Amarante held Rachel's hair in place behind her head while she reached for Rachel's bright red headband with the other, pulling it back over her antenna, which sprang back into place behind her bangs with a twitch. Once Amarante finished tying the hair into place, she stepped aside and smiled.

Rachel gawked at herself in the mirror. She couldn't help it. The sun shone through the window at a perfect angle, casting a golden spotlight on her body. The dress glowed, an almost otherworldly thing. The skirt was long and gauzy, flaring at the hips where the bodice ended. The bust was cut in a delicate v, dipping just enough to show a tease of cleavage. It had no sleeves, just two gauzy bands attached to the dip in her collar in such a way that they hung, as though slipping, just below her shoulders. All of it shimmered, from that lovely magenta into all the other shades of purple she could think of.

"I…" Rachel tried to say something, but Amarante stepped in front of her, blocking the mirror. As she did, Rachel got a whiff of her perfume. It smelled…like lilacs. _Like my dress_, she thought with a smile. "My beautiful dress…" she whispered aloud. Then she giggled, suddenly giddy even as a wave of exhaustion swept over her in the same moment. "It _is_ perfect."

Her eyelids drooped. Somewhere in her chest, she had a strange and hollow feeling, but after a moment it faded as she swayed. Amarante reached for her, but Rachel hardly noticed. All she could think about was how gorgeous her new dress was, about how wonderful Amarante _really_ was, and how _nice_ everything smelled.

"My dear," Amarante whispered. Her teeth showed in a smile that Rachel thought suited her more than any other she had given since they met. "It's time to sleep."

* * *

**_A/N:_** Muh.

This story ACTUALLY starts to get more exciting next chapter. XD I don't like this one much. Feel disjointed. =/


	5. Revel

**M o i r a**

**Chapter Three:**

**Revel  
**

* * *

_That tonight is somehow different_  
_Than the next one or the last,_  
_And the future is as certain_  
_As the dimly shadowed past._

**- Kate Hockersmith, **_**All Hallow's Eve  
**_

* * *

Rachel dreamt.

Moonlight poured through her window as she groggily sat up in her bed, blinking; with the shutters open, she could hear music coming from outside. Festive music, and laughing, and singing, and cheering, and clapping: a celebration.

The house, however, was quiet.

Her first thought was to question why she was alone, but not how or why she knew that she was certainly, and her second was that the air smelled good. Thick, but sweet. Like flowers…like lilacs.

Rachel looked down at herself, suddenly remembering her dress. Miraculously, it appeared unwrinkled in the wake of her nap. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and smoothed her skirt carefully anyway before rising. She walked towards the window; the moon was full, and positioned perfectly in the sky so that its light shone directly into her room and onto her. Through the trees, beyond her backyard, she saw lights and distant shadows moving.

She turned away, making for the stairs, stopping to smile at her reflection as she passed her full-length mirror. But as she came downstairs a sudden urge to be out of her house gripped her; she hurried for the door, feeling somewhat anxious as she stepped outside and into the velvety night air.

There was a fog rolling through the town, and again, Rachel felt strange as she walked the streets that were completely empty. Where was everyone? She followed the sounds of the music and the festivities and found herself making a way through the cool mist towards the park.

Lanterns were fastened up high in the trees, with festive hangings strung from each, connecting one light to the other and creating a criss-cross sort of pattern above the heads of the party-goers, and Rachel realized as she gazed into the crowd that nearly everyone from the town was here. As she stepped off the bridge, barefoot, someone ran up to her.

"Rachel!" called a voice that was familiar yet indistinct. Rachel squinted at the figure standing before her, but their features were blurry and she couldn't place who, exactly, they were.

"Glad you could finally join us!" said the mysterious person, lifting a mug of something or another before her. "Congratulations!" Then, with a laugh, they turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Rachel stood there for a moment, confused, but oddly giddy. She realized that she was smiling, but didn't know why.

She felt a hand on her shoulder then, and turned around to come face-to-face with Verrell.

She blinked up at him, startled. "Verrell," she said, and felt something soft flutter inside of her as the word left her mouth. "What's going on?"

Verrell smiled at her in that alarmingly beautiful way of his, although Rachel felt no alarm even as she finished thinking that. She watched him curiously as he reached for her hand.

"What do you mean, my dear?" He asked before planting a soft kiss to her fingers.

Rachel blushed. "Er—I—uh," she stammered. "I mean, _this._ What's all of this?" She gestured with her free hand to the party happeing in full swing around them, and Verrell followed her gesture curiously before gazing back at her with a quirked brow.

"What do you mean?" he asked again with a chuckle. "It's our engagement party, of course."

Rachel's brain stopped for a moment; her mouth hung open as she stared up at him dumbly. He laughed.

"Don't tell me you forgot," he said.

"_Engaged_?" she squeaked. Quickly she looked from his face down to her hand clutched gently in his, then back again. Strange memories started filtering in; foggy pictures of him staring up at her from a kneeling position on the floor, smiling as she held her hand much the way he was doing now. Emotions flitted into her along with the memory; surprise, joy…love.

Rachel shook her head. "No," she said. "Wait." She pulled her hand out of his. At his strange look, she quickly reassured him before she realized what she was saying. "Yes, I remember." Her voice sounded distant. That wasn't what she wanted to say. She stepped back from him.

"Rachel," he called her name, and as he did she felt funny. She froze, baffled.

"I..I..I don't feel right," she whispered. "I don't feel right." Suddenly a new emotion welled up within her: fear, clear as day. "Verrell, something's _wrong_."

He stepped towards her then, so closely their bodies practically pressed together, and took her face in his hands. "Sh, sh, sh," he soothed. Rachel stared into his eyes. They were familiar, and warm, and worried as he gazed down at her. She loved this man. Didn't she? She felt something looking into his angelic face, something strong.

"I proposed to you two nights ago," he told her, gently. "In the tavern. Remember? I surprised you while you were at work. Think back, Rachel. You cried and said yes and I held you."

She remembered. She remembered but somewhere inside of her she knew she shouldn't have. She wanted to break away from him, but at the same time she wanted nothing else than to be held by him. What was happening to her? She shook her head; hot tears spilled from her eyes.

"No," she choked. "I—"

Quickly, Verrell kissed her. Immediately Rachel closed her eyes; his lips were warm and soft. As he kissed her she felt everything inside of her coming together—every foggy, fragmented memory of them together fell into place perfectly, every experience they had, every touch, every look, every memory leading up to now. She felt herself calm down as a wave of reassurance washed over her; she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him, relief making her body pliant as her lips responded to his own.

Then, suddenly, she heard a sound inside her own mind; a bell so clear and sharp that she thought her skull would crack, and everything she had just saw and experienced in Verrell's arms shattered.

Rachel woke up.

"Augh," she cried, and pushed him away, violently. She stumbled to her knees, clutching her ringing head as reality flooded back into her mind. "I remember," she whispered, hoarsely. "I remember."

Verrell stepped towards her. "My love—"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT," she shrieked. "You—you—you _demon!_" She drove herself to her feet to face him, but froze at what she saw.

Standing in front of her was not Verrell; as she gazed into his alien face, there wasn't a trace of human left. His ears stretched long and pointed alongside his moon-fair face, which was as sharp as it was lovely. His eyes were unnaturally large and had no pupils, no whites; they were a solid, iridescent, inhumanly pale shade of green.

He reached for her, and his white fingers were lithe and pointed in the moonlight, elongated by an extra joint.

Rachel screamed, jumping away from him. "By the Goddess," she cried. "What are you?"

Verrell froze. He stared down at his hand as though surprised by what he saw. After a moment his expression changed, hardened, and he let his arm fall back to his side. "I see," he said quietly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. _Artemis_!"

Rachel whirled, looking to the people who had undoubtedly seen everything that had just happened for help. But as she took in the scene playing out beneath the light of the full moon, she felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. "Oh," she whispered, horrified. "Oh, no…"

No one had stopped at the commotion she and Verrell had made; however, what Rachel had before saw as a jovial festival was now revealed as something much more horrific. Everyone danced—and now she could recognize the faces of the people she saw—but they were dirty, grey and broken. Yuka and Meimei and Amanda; Barrett and Tal and Duelle; Mark and Jennifer, dancing on bloody feet, around and around, unable to stop, trapped in an endless revel. Rachel saw the bodies of people who had already been driven to collapse, lying motionless on the ground, flattened as they were trampled by the others who would soon follow. Everyone moaned, low and drawn, a sickening shadow of laughter as they held hands in a revolving circle designed to never break, to never end.

Rachel screamed. "What have you _done_?"

"We can stop this," Verrell answered behind her. His voice was calm and emotionless. Rachel turned. "Just do as we say and you can save them."

Rachel felt her lip tremble. _Why?_ She wanted to ask. _Why?_ But she didn't. Her chest heaved; but instead of a cry of anguish, she let loose a shriek of fury and lunged for his throat.

Verrell was faster than her however. He stepped to the side and Rachel stumbled through the place he had been standing. He reached for the scabbard at his hip and drew from it a long, thin rapier that looked as though it were made of glass.

"Do as we say," he repeated, and Rachel faced him with bared teeth. "This can be easy, or this can be hard, Rachel."

"Oh, Fionn," cooed a voice. "Where's the fun in that?"And Amarante appeared beside him, transformed—revealed. Her eyes were like Verrell's—large and solid, but in this creatures eyes Rachel could only see insanity and twisted hunger as she grinned. She held in her hand a coiled whip, with wicked ends made from jagged pieces of glass.

"Let her fight us! What's the point if you can't draw some blood?" Artemis laughed, and Rachel's fresh memory of her loved ones' bloody, broken feet surged to her mind's eye.

"Monsters," she hissed, before unfurling her wings and leaping into the air.

She heard enraged shouting below her as she took off in flight, but she didn't look back. _I need my sword_, she thought desperately as she buzzed over the trees. _I need to kill them_. Her house and backyard came into view, and Rachel angled herself so that she could fly into her bedroom window, which she had left open earlier. She landed roughly; her legs gave out beneath her as she tumbled into the house.

Suddenly she felt weak, and as she climbed unsteadily to her feet she smelled lilacs. _The dress_, she remembered with no little amount of rage. _I'm still wearing the dress!_ She looked down at herself and fumbled for the bodice strings in the back, pulling until it constricted around her body painfully before finally ripping free. She tore the garment off of herself, kicking it away as it fell to the floor. Instantly she felt better; sharper, stronger. The dress had been enchanted to weaken her.

Naked but for her scant underpants, Rachel turned towards her bed and dropped down to her hands and knees to reach underneath. She dragged her shield, sword and scabbard out from beneath the bed and stood to arm herself; as she finished fastening her belt around her hips, however, she heard a sharp crack from behind her; a searing pain shot through her brain as something ripped through the membrane of her left wing.

She cried out, stumbling into the wall. Another crack sounded, and over that a chuckle. Rachel turned, pulling her sword out with a flash and raising her shield, gritting her teeth against the burning agony of her torn wing.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," admonished Artemis, who stood at the top of the staircase leading into Rachel's room. "You play dirty."

Rachel didn't reply, glancing towards her window. She wondered how badly her wing was injured, and whether or not she could still fly.

_No_, she thought, darkly. _No. She dies here._

She sneered at Artemis, who stood cockily with her unfurled whip. "You know," the woman said conversationally. "The whole town will probably be dead by morning."

Rachel felt her eye jump, but dared not make a move. _Don't be goaded into foolishness_, she reminded herself.

Artemis cracked her whip. "Let's dance." Rachel dove into a roll as Artemis lashed out, cutting the wall behind where the girl had stood. Rachel rose in front of her window, but as she did she began to feel light-headed. She shook herself in an attempt to focus her alarmingly blurry vision.

"Aww," cooed Artemis. "What's wrong, princess? Oh," she brought a long finger up to tap her dainty chin. "Wait, I know—you're poisoned!"

"What?" Rachel gasped. Her wing burned, as though it were being eaten away—Rachel glanced at the woman's sinister whip, to the jagged glass ends that gleamed in the light of the moon shining in through the window.

"Poisoned…" she echoed.

"That's right," Artemis purred, before letting her weapon fly again. This time Rachel barely managed to block it with her shield. She stumbled backwards, her lower back bashing painfully into the windowsill. Rachel looked behind her; outside, on the ground below, stood Fionn with his sword drawn. Rachel looked back to Artemis. She was cornered. If she fought, she would loose. She couldn't fly away. She could barely keep up with that whip. Rachel thought quickly, remembering a particular spell Nunuzac had taught her years ago.

She could feel the poison doing it's work on her body; her limbs felt weak, and her breath was beginning to shorten. She didn't have much time. _One shot_, she told herself. _You have one shot at this._

She raised her shield to hide her mouth, and began uttering her spell. _Mom, Daddy, I'm sorry._

Artemis' inhuman eyes narrowed dangerously. "Ohoho, not so fast, princess," she said before letting fly her whip. Rachel timed her block; raising her shield against the attack, she pushed herself up and back, through the window, using her wings to propel herself into the air. The left one screamed as she commanded it to work against the poison and the pain.

Mana hummed in the air, following Rachel as she fell like the tail on a shooting star; she released her spell as Fionn's shocked face rose up to meet her—and closed her eyes as a blinding flash of light enveloped her body.

Suddenly Rachel was falling through different, thicker air, and gasped as she was assaulted by piercing rain. Thunder crashed. A raging river, grey and frothy and merciless, was the last thing she saw before hitting the water and losing consciousness.

* * *

**_A/N:_** FINALLY, WE GET SOMEWHERE.

Escad at last makes his entrance next chapter!

Do tell me if I made any sort of grammatical error this chapter. It's two in the morning right now and I am EXHAUSTED.


End file.
